Thank You
by DarkestWolfx
Summary: The shirt was in the safest hands in could ever find, and it would never- could never, show enough gratitude for that. There were many ways to say thank you, but the right one would probably never be found. Spoilers for S3E25&26 ('The Long Reach').


This was not the direction this fic was initially meant to be going in – it was meant to be far more serious and smaller, but hey! It had a mind of its own, and this is now it. I think maybe it's all the better for taking its own direction, but I'll leave you all to be the judges of that.

I had another piece of work I wanted to get up (maybe before this one I'm not sure), but it's been... taking its own path let's say. It also tags onto 'The Long Reach' (at the moment what doesn't), but it's still not finished. I'm hoping I can get it up Thursday if everyone's happy to wait until then?

This goes out as a little gift to Teobi too – thank you for everything! It feels appropriate to say given the whole point of this ficlet.

Summary: The shirt was in the safest hands in could ever find, and it would never- could never, show enough gratitude for that. There were many ways to say thank you, but the right one would probably never be found. Spoilers for S3E25&26 ('The Long Reach').

* * *

The moment that hand grabbed his he knew there was a debt to repay.

It didn't work quite like that with family of course, but Scott felt it all the same.

* * *

He watched.

Watched that moment where Dad caught the eyes of his brothers for the first time. Where they all flew into his arms, holding on for dear life, just as he had done moments ago… although for much more dangerous reasons.

The way everyone huddled together though… it took him back. Took him back to the days they had as a family, the days they had where they never thought of what might be to come, because what they had was already enough. The days when _this_, this image was _everything_ – first thing in the morning or last thing at night, or just… whenever Dad's arms were needed.

It was… He didn't have the words to describe how perfect this moment was. All he could think of was the ten-year-old him who used to cheer and jump into his Dad's arms when he returned to the Island from dealing with Tracy Industries business, or in later years, from far greater heights.

And as he watched that heroic man holding his brothers strong and tight, he felt the smile pull at his lips, and like gravity calling him home he floated into his place in the hold. For a second, his Father's eyes locked with his before solace fell.

Even when the alarm disturbed them, it was somehow alright. They had to go home eventually of course. Although, staying didn't seem like a bad alternative if they could all remain together.

And as Virgil led Dad away to the cabin, he couldn't help feeling flutters of emotions he'd too long kept at bay.

And when Dad turned, and called for him, he was reminded of all the times the man had spoken his name.

"_Scott… thank you."_

And he'd nodded, not really knowing what to say in the fleeting moment, knowing he needed to return to Thunderbird One, but he did know what he _thought_.

_No, it should be thank you, Dad._

* * *

Thank you for so much.

For so many things, that the list was impossibly long.

Thank you for having me.

Thank you for raising me.

Thank you for taking care of me – the best care.

Thank you for my brothers.

Thank you for teaching me.

Thank you for holding me.

Thank you for being the best Dad in the whole galaxy – not an exaggeration.

Thank you for believing in me, for trusting in me.

Thank you for International Rescue.

Thank you for the Thunderbirds.

Thank you for loving me – across the stars and beyond.

Thank you for waiting for me.

Thank _you_ for _rescuing_ me.

* * *

He didn't have the words to explain how happy he was to have Dad back. Not in a dream or his imagination, but in the flesh and on the Island.

It was like the equivalent of having every brilliant thing he considered in the world right before him, every reason for his continued living.

It almost made eight years of struggle and pain worth it. _Almost. _Because nothing could really ever make that lost time be worth anything. But this, this came the closest. Always would.

And so, that night, whilst Grandma was busy cooking the feast of a (not so) lifetime, they were gathering trying to make Dad feel more at home. And now that he was definitely looking ok, looking more like his old self even if a tad grey-er around the edges, Scott had a feeling that things were going to start feeling more like home again.

Well, it already had really.

Like the old home, not the new. There was nothing wrong with the new of course, no, it had been eight years of their lives. But it had never quite matched up to what came before it. There had always been a Dad sized hole, painfully reminding him, stabbing him in the back at every opportunity.

And whilst Scott still felt a little like something was stabbing at him, this felt more like a needle, sticking its way in as it tried to sew up the gaping gap, stuffing eight years of grief-filled thoughts into the back of beyond. Stitching tightly so those demons could never come back.

And right now, they couldn't be further from his mind as they spent the passing minutes together. It was a new situation, but it felt in keeping with their old ways.

It was the first family dinner in eight years, and if Grandma was going all out with the food, then so were they with the dress code in return. Only, it was never the simple road for them, even part of Scott felt like this time, it was because certain relatives were enjoying dragging it all out. He couldn't deny that it was amusing him: to a point.

Dad wanted his pink flamingo shirt, but Virgil had insisted that was a poor choice of return clothing for Grandma's 'grand' dinner. Alan had then insisted on seeing said shirt and that had ended up in a mass turn out of all Dad's clothes which they'd kept stored away, with the three youngest bickering over what shirt was the most fitting.

But with no pink flamingos making their appearance, as of yet.

John was just shaking his head, and Scott was beginning to feel like he was getting old. Just watching the squabble was making him feel tired, bone tired – as though the day hadn't already done that.

But it was Jeff Tracy- _Dad_ who surprised him the most, joining in like the man of younger years he'd been eight years ago, playing around like Scott had never taken for granted. Of course, it shouldn't surprise him, for military man or not, with his children that was always the sort of man Jeff had been. No, it was more that Scott was struggling to comprehend that this picture was _now_ and not _then_.

It was now after eight years… and nothing instinctual, or bone-deep had really changed it seemed.

Except the whole part where eight years _had _passed without this amazing, brilliant, epitome of a Father.

But they had him now. They had him and he had five sons who were going to never let go. They had eight years to make up for, and tonight was only going to be the first. Of many.

Of that Scott felt sure.

Well, that was of course if Dad could survive the evening. The Terrible Two were quite… full on at the best of times and well, eight years and all. Virgil seemed to have new life breathed into him as well, his eyes gleaming with a childish spark Scott had rarely seen in the past few years (unless getting payback on the tricksters was involved). He wondered if all their sparks had been dimmed without their notice.

Still, they must have been here for some half hour now, trying to find whatever 'suitable' dinner attire really meant for tonight.

Honestly, Scott wasn't sure there was a _point _to this anymore, rather that childish madness had descended and was now leading their path.

In fact, he was certain of it. There was no longer a point to this. It had turned into some kind of squabble and rummage and… shower of stored away clothing being released.

Madness, was the word which instantly came to mind.

And it didn't seem to be stopping any time soon. He figured John could see that too, from where they stood like bookends either side of the door and safely away from their younger brother's version of 'unpacking'.

His green-eyed brother sighed, pushing himself away from the wall, finally heading towards the fray. _Brave move, _he thought, and he had every plan of watching how it turned out.

"Guys, come on now, give Dad a break."

"Yeah, Grandma will have finished cooking in a minute." He added. From his position leaning by the door, he could smell the steam coming up from the kitchen. It wasn't… great, to put it nicely. MAX hadn't been given permission to assist then, either from Grandma or Brains. _Great indeed._

"Dad's had an eight-_year_ long break, John!" Gordon called, still not using his indoor voice, so to speak. Likely from too much excitement, because Scott knew he hadn't had sugar. "This is making up for it."

"_This,_ Gordon, sounds a like a whole lot of noise and looks like a mess. I'm sure Grandma put a lot of time-"

"And worry." Alan added. Scott smiled as John ignored the youngest. Dad didn't need to know everything they'd all done in the time between finding out there was a chance, and actually _finding_ him.

"-into keeping this room tidy, and not for you three to- _ohff_!"

The red head suddenly ended up with a handful of blue fabric, thrown his way by… _Dad? _Scott had to blink, and double take The result was the same.

"What do you think, son? Acceptable for family dinner?"

_Huh, _Scott had to admit he was surprised. He had honestly thought Dad was just indulging the play of throwing clothes around the room with _yes_'s and _no_'s, but maybe he'd been seriously _enjoying_ playing this whole time. John looked at the bundle of fabric in his arms like it was so many things, and Scott was sure his first younger brother could have answered that in hundreds of ways.

The one he chose, however, was to throw it back at their patriarch, who caught it whilst the fabric was still making its journey through the air.

"I think blue is more of our uniform colour, Dad."

"Hmm, maybe you're right. Work, not play! Pink, on the other hand, is nothing like it." A precision gaze turned to the middle child. "Where is it, Virgil?"

"Oh, I won't give in. You really can't wear that!"

"That's not fair. Let your old man re-enter with a bang."

"Dad, you already did that!" John reminded. Scott was with the Spaceman on that. He couldn't take Dad needing to 're-enter' their lives ever again, thank you very much. No, the man could definitely stay put, for the sake of health and happiness. And maybe his hair.

"Besides," Gordon interrupted before heaving a cardboard box into his arms, "_This _has way better options for making an entrance."

Scott was sure they were all frowning at him, until the swimmer upended the box. From it fell stacks of bright colours, neons and golds, and definitely the stuff that Scott remembered having been 'in' when he was a toddler and 'out' by the time Virgil was born.

Thus the three youngest had rather wide eyes at the assortment.

Yes, this was never going to end now.

"What is this?" Alan seemed to be having the time of his life, picking up piece of fabric after piece of fabric, and throwing them around the room after he'd taken a good look at each one.

Scott was almost reminded of the way he'd used to do that when searching through his drawers. In fairness, he'd been ten, and not quite as tidy as he was now, with a habit of misplacing the clothes he wanted only _when _he wanted them and them never being where he last remembered putting them. Dad somehow always managed to find them with ease, _after _Scott had already made his room a tip. _Typically_.

But this, this was worse than the tips he used to make his room into. This looked a little like a bomb site, dare he say it.

John sighed, tired and weary, and so much like Dad used to, before turning his own gaze to their heavy-duty pilot.

"Virgil, _please_ just give Dad the shirt."

_Yeah, _Scott thought, _save us from this madness._

"No way, big brother."

"Fine." John suddenly didn't seem all that bothered. _Strange. _Unless of course… Trust John of all people to know. "_I'll_ get it."

Dad looked rather pleased at that prospect. Scott should have known John would figure out where Virgil had hidden it.

"No!" But in seconds, Virgil had launched himself at John, grabbing the red head around the waist and pulling them both down (_probably not quite the plan_, Scott thought from his perfect viewpoint by the door still) into the sea of shirts the floor had become. Gordon found this incredibly enjoyable and Alan had clearly yet to think about the time they'd need to spend _cleaning_ Dad's room back up – because Grandma would definitely make them when she saw the state of it (which would inevitably be when she called them up for dinner, as they were never going to make an appearance at this rate) – as he tipped box after box of clothes onto the floor until there was hardly any of the beige carpet remaining. Except maybe for the patch beneath Scott's feet.

Gordon had nearly knocked into Dad as he dove into the pile, whacking into John's chest by the sound of it.

"Fish, you're-"

Whatever the end to that sentence was, they'd never hear it as Alan leapt into the fray too, bringing with him a load of gold and red shirts which buried John and Virgil, invisible.

"Way to go, Alan!"

"Gordon!" That was Virgil, pushing at the shirts and digging his way back up. Scott was honestly surprised nothing was damaged yet. It would probably end up so by the end of this.

There didn't seem to be an end in sight though, as Dad chuckled heartily, presumably at the sight of his boys, swimming around by his feet in the mass of turfed out shirts… Scott had to admit, they looked like children.

If he looked, and looked without the knowledge he had of how their lives turned out… well, he could see them in the days before Dad was gone, when Alan was still so small and he was only just beginning to turn sensible – he hadn't always been quite like this; a leader or organised head of the family. No, he stepped up to do that. But in the days before, he would have ended up somewhere around where John was now, with Gordon and Alan clambering over him, trying to keep him on the floor. It made him chuckle to see it. Things didn't change. Virgil was much the same, trying to work out which side he was better to be on. He had a habit of swapping and changing, so that you could never count upon his assistance. Right now, he chose to help John, pushing the blonde pair out of the way.

Scott would have expected it; had they been between fifteen and six again. But now, it was one of the last things to occur to him. Yet, John and Virgil shared a split second of a glance, before pouncing (as much as they could when they were still wading through shirts) upon the blonde pair in what was definitely an act of revenge, Gordon and Alan shouting their protests at their elder brothers gaining the upper hand.

Dad – trust him – smiled and laughed, and the sound may have aged, but it was still the same Scott remembered hearing, a sound which had told him it was okay. It was okay for them to play, to have fun. It was a sound he knew he should thank for that.

_Thank you for laughing with us. Not at us._

He watched with a fondness he'd long missed, his eyes misting as the images of his brothers and his father with age removed continued to swim into his vision. It was a gorgeous picture.

Broken only by the fact he could smell food burning.

Uhhh… That's probably another thing he should get around to being thankful for.

_Thank you for being able to cook._

When Grandma finally let Dad back into the kitchen – which would be a matter of time, long time maybe, but she would inevitably give in, Scott was sure – they might not have to suffer tooth ache from charred, crunchy offerings.

That would be the day.

But today they would make do with Grandma's feast and Scott knew they would all attempt to their upmost to appear like they were enjoying it. It wouldn't be hard to enjoy it with Dad there, instead of an empty chair.

They had to get there first of course. And that definitely wasn't happening any time soon at this current rate.

Excusing himself from the room wasn't hard. He was by the door already and everyone's attentions were... Otherwise occupied. Even Dad seemed to be moving into the fray as Gordon and Alan regained the upper hand on John and Virgil, the pair disappearing beneath the shirts again with a resounding _thump _that shook the floor beneath his feet.

"Ok boys-"

That was the last he heard as he headed into the corridor, three doors down towards Virgil's room. John had somewhat given the middle child's game away. Scott wouldn't usually make it his policy to invade his brother's rooms, but the situation called. He opened the door on the left side of Virgil's wardrobe and reached up as high as his stature would allow him to the shelf above the hanging rail. It had long been the black-haired boy's secret store for anything he intended his younger brothers to never find nor reach. Considering Virgil was the last of them to reach six-foot tall, Scott figured it would work well for many years to come.

But he was the tallest and it took him all of a second to feel around the locate the fabric he was looking for. For a moment, the feel of it under his hold took him right back to those Sunday mornings. To all the bright sunny days where that top had made an appearance. It was silly really, but Scott could see why Virgil had hidden away. And he knew it hadn't been done as a rush job due to Dad's return and a plan to play like children.

No, it had been done long ago, for far more monumental reasons.

It made him smile. A sad smile, but it was one all the same.

It was almost ironic that you _could_ smile sadly. It was one of those oxymoron's John liked to talk about.

Still, on the grand scale of things, right now, it didn't really matter. Because a smile was as smile.

_Thank you for showing me how to smile._

He let the wardrobe door _click _shut as he headed back towards the door, shutting it solidly behind him. As soon as he returned to the corridor, it was like a vacuum broke and the sound of shouting and laughter reached his ears anew.

It was as he expected then… it had yet to cease.

He took his time making the short journey from one room to the next, listening to what he'd missed and the merry sounds which once again made him imagine them back in their days as young Tracy's running around these halls without cares in the world.

"Ow! Gordon!"

"You asked for it, Virge!

"Virge?"

"Great idea, Gordy!"

"Gordy? Goodness Johnny, Virge, Gordy… what did I miss boys?"

Scott chuckled. He'd have to get around to telling Dad that he wasn't exempt from the nicknaming either.

"Not now, Dad!" Something was going on, but Scott was lacking the visual to connect exactly what it was within his mind.

"Alan, really, stop!" John hadn't managed to escape then, that was to be expected with Alan on the case of family events. "You'll get Dad in a minute!"

"John, I think I already did!"

That was Gordon, and he didn't sound half as guilty as he maybe should over that. Whilst they had remained worried for their Dad's return to gravity central, Jeff had been dismissing those worries left, right and centre, and doing a pretty good job at holding his own upon the Earth. Still, there would be trouble with Grandma if anything happened that was for sure. It was bad enough when she only had her Grandsons to fuss over, let alone her son, grown up he was meant to be or not!

"Hey! That hurt!"

"It's a pillow!"

"A pillow can be an offensive weapon- oi!"

Whilst hearing the kerfuffle was quite entertaining, Scott wasn't sure if he could bare lacking the imagery for much longer. So, tucking the shirt out of view behind his back, he stepped around the corner, leaning back where he had been against the door.

It didn't seem – instantly at least – that his absence had been noted.

He noticed – instantly, of course – that the room was more of wreckage now then it had been when he left.

The sea of shirts had ceased rising. Sort of. The bed covers – painstakingly pressed repeated by their Grandmother he was sure – had been pulled into the tide instead, and the pillows – as Alan had stated – were currently in the hands of the youngest pair. They clearly had kept hold of the upper hand.

John looked a little like he had given up long ago, but with no visible escape, was putting up with the barrage of whacks coming his way from the pillow Alan had armed himself with.

Virgil on the other hand, was still hitting back strong, matching Gordon's pummels with block of his muscled arms

"Hey! Not fair!"

"I thought all was fair in war, Gordon. Hmm?"

"They were _your _words."

"Yes, thanks Johnny- Virge, quit it!"

"No way, you slippery fish!"

"Alan, help! Little help!"

But Alan finally seemed to have settled, laughing as Gordon received what appeared to be payback for every successful hit he'd landed.

John tried to take that reprieve for what it was, shaking his head with sigh as he tried to clamber to his feet. The red head had never been clumsy, just not a favourite of gravity. And unfortunately, gravity upon Earth was inescapable.

So was Alan.

_Thump._

Scott was glad the quilt cover was now on the floor. It made the floor shake a little less this time around.

"Please, stop doing that!"

But Alan seemed to have no intention of letting go from where he had looped his arms tightly around John's legs, thus causing the elder's fall back to gravity. Dad had stepped away just in time to avoid being caught in the collision.

_Hmm, _maybe he wasn't faring too badly with his return to weighted air after all.

"No! You're trapped here!"

"Get Grandma's cooking to save me, _please_!"

Virgil and Gordon, paused, turning in sync, rather like marionette puppets.

"What now?"

"I _don't_ mean it."

It seemed peaceful.

Scott knew peace didn't often last in this family: whether International Rescue was the disruption, or the members of the family unit themselves. This time it was going to be the latter, clearly.

Still, John's tactic had nearly been a good one.

Scott would admit. He hadn't expected it. He'd been expecting John to get up and walk away, not use the brief distraction to latch hold of Alan's abandoned pillow to lob it at the frozen pair – with great accuracy.

Virgil and Gordon's brown eyes narrowed in sync.

_Uh oh._

The only thing worse that Gordon and Alan working together… was Virgil and Gordon out for revenge, and working together.

"Uh… John… Was that a wise idea?"

Scott rather thought Dad could even have told Alan the answer to that and John looked like he rather regretted the successful attempt to get one up on the younger pair.

"Wise idea, Alan?" The youngest nodded. "Run!"

In seconds, by Alan's allowance, the space-mad pair of the family were on their feet and rushing past him in a blur of green and white checkers. And if they'd narrowly missed knocking him over, Gordon and Virgil cut it even finer as they went by in a blur of red, black and yellow, with so much motion, Scott felt the aftershocks like a winter wind through an open window when it caught your eyes.

And in the quiet aftermath, silent save for the shouts which echoed down the hall and Dad's vibrant laughter, Scott could see the leftover wreckage clearly. Dad's room looked much like it did in the days of their childhood fort building, just lacking most of the organisation their patriarch had brought with him to fix their first few shambled attempts.

It was… nice.

Dad finally stopped laughing, sounding almost like he was choking on the sound and Scott looked up to meet those eyes which had even appeared to go grey. There wasn't a moment of regret in them though. This was probably exactly what he'd been hoping to see. Well, maybe not exactly, but Scott was sure it wasn't going amiss.

"I'd better go and rescue them, ey?" How this man could ever have done anything else with his life… Scott knew that was impossible for certain now. He'd always been there, always rescuing them, long before they'd ever seen it.

And didn't he know it.

He was only glad it wasn't his turn anymore. That was a baton he would happily pass back.

He nodded, revealing the shirt at the same time.

Jeff smiled, making his way towards the door and clasping the fabric with a grip so akin to that one Scott could still remember, still feel buzzing through his hand and into his arm. That shirt was in the safest hands in could ever find, and it would never- could never, show enough gratitude for that.

There were many ways to say thank you, but the right one would probably never be found.

Scott felt much the same as that lucky piece of fabric for ending up where it did in life.

"Ah! Scott, t-"

"No, Dad. Thank _you_."

He didn't wait to give his Father any time to ask for the context – it would take far too long to say it all anyway. Instead he turned on his heel, _if Dad's doing the rescuing… _and dived after his brothers too. He was playing on his own side now.

If Dad thought he had a lot to thank him for, well… Scott knew he had hell of a lot more.

And one of those things on the very, very long list, was _this_.

_Thank you for letting me be a child. For letting me live and grow, whilst you guarded and guided me._

Giving him something of his childish, happy-go-lucky side back.

_Thank you, Dad, _indeed_._


End file.
